Between Two Eternities || Travis Hamonic

(30) You're Just An Innocent

"The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof."

-Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams

If I was a normal twenty two year old, I'd be spending the day with my best friend. We'd be shopping and eating salad or sipping Starbucks.

Since I'm not a normal twenty two year old, I'm going for a walk by myself, sipping on an iced coffee on my own. The fact that I'm alone may have attributed to my observance.

I saw him.

So casually.

It was bittersweet, if anything. I could taste it.

After the night at the club, I haven't thought about Travis at all - to my relief. If I don't think about him, I must be over him.

I don't know how I can believe I am over him when every time I see him, my heart races and my stomach clenches into a tight knot.

You only know you love someone when you have a physical ache to be closer to him.

Through all these people, across one of the busiest streets in the whole city. No matter, I saw Travis.

And I don't believe in accidents.

Maybe it's because Manhattan Center of Therapy is on the other side of such street. I haven't been inside in practically forever, but I looked over anyway. To simply see how it was doing.

I haven't been inside since before Wyoming, haven't seen Jerry. I've ignored his calls until he finally just stopped calling. Matt, entering into his rebellious stage, has refused to go as well. And Molly, simply exhausted between my issues and Matt's indifference, doesn't force him.

After experiencing time away ... seven months away ... I decided to live on my terms.

And therapy is not one of my terms.

Bobby helped convince me I don't need a therapist. He had always been extremely convincing.

My only interest in that place now is what is Travis doing walking outside of the glass front door? And to his expensive car in the parking lot? Why does he look angry? He has no business being in there. And besides, there are no sessions on Wednesdays in the summer.

I would know.

He must've received bad news, because his face is upset.

I stared, unmoving. Just a glimpse of him. Like a stick in quick sand, I stay put. I watch him open up the door to his really nice car that looks freshly waxed.

Like in all my Highland Ridge dreams, Travis Hamonic stopped frozen as he saw me.

He saw me as well. A huge bus slips along the street but when it passes, he is still in the same position. I can see him mouth my name.

And I can tell it is not as a question.

I used to dream of him coming up to me and kissing me. But every morning, I awakened, reminded that he left.

I left New York, but he left me.

Then the wind rakes my hair and a taxi beeps its horn and someone yells about a hot dog.

Yet Travis doesn't hear all that. He is looking at me. I can see him mouth my name again. He probably said it out loud. And then a quick jaywalk across the street, heavy breathing on my part, and he is here.

He looks wonderful. Seven months did him well. His hair grew out a bit and he looks slightly stronger. He's wearing tan shorts and a gray hoodie with rolled up sleeves. There's also a hat backwards on his head. I assume it's a baseball cap and not one of those snapbacks because Travis is a more traditional guy.